"Good morning," I responded. "I suppose you are Mrs. Hargis?"
"Yes, sir; and your breakfast's ready."
"Has Mr. Godfrey gone?"
"Yes, sir; he left about an hour ago. He was afraid his machine would
waken you."
"It didn't," I said, as I followed her back along the hall. "Nothing
short of an earthquake would have wakened me. Ah, this is fine!"
She had shown me into a pleasant room, where a little table was set
near an open window. It made quite a picture, with its white cloth and
shining dishes and plate of yellow butter, and bowl of crimson
berries, and--but I didn't linger to admire it. I don't know when I
have enjoyed breakfast so much. Mrs. Hargis, after bringing in the
eggs and bacon and setting a little pot of steaming coffee at my
elbow, sensibly left me alone to the enjoyment of it. Ever since that
morning, I have realised that, to start the day exactly right, a man
should breakfast by himself, amid just such surroundings, leisurely
and without distraction. A copy of the morning's _Record_ was lying on
the table, but I did not even open it. I did not care what had
happened in the world the day before!
At last, ineffably content, I stepped out upon the driveway at the
side of the house, and strolled away among the trees.
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